


anyplace or anywhere or anytime

by sweetbun_trio



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dungeons & Dragons References, F/M, Family Angst, Family Drama, Family Secrets, Meet-Cute, Misunderstandings, Opposites Attract, Role-Playing Game, Self-Destruction, Self-Esteem Issues, Sharing, Slow Burn, Strangers to Friends, Writer Bernadetta
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:55:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24987904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetbun_trio/pseuds/sweetbun_trio
Summary: Bernadetta mentally kicks herself when she realizes she can’t remember any of the dozen or so most recent people whose books she signed. She let them all wash over her, none of them leaving a distinct impression.Do better, Bernie! She chastises herself inwardly. At least she has broken her habit of doing that out loud.“Hey,” says the next person in line before she looks up, and right into his eyes, “It’s an honor to meet you.”
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/Bernadetta von Varley
Comments: 33
Kudos: 98
Collections: FE3H Kink Meme





	1. the book signing

**Author's Note:**

> Update: going to continue this and have 14 chapters planned, chapter 2 forthcoming soon.
> 
> Originally for the prompt:
> 
> Modern AU where Bernadetta has a book signing. Sylvain is a big fan and when Bernadetta goes to sign his book, she leaves a little note with her number cuz she thinks he's cute and he's the nicest person she's met out of all these people in line

Bernadetta looks up to hand the thirty-third book she has signed tonight back to its owner, a nondescript young woman who grabs the book, smiles, and turns around to leave. She has made it to the final stop on her book tour, a homecoming of sorts, in the city where she now lives. 

She’s going to be so relieved once this is all over. 

The next person in line approaches, a loud-talker. These are the ones she has the hardest time with. Bernadetta tries not to flinch at every word that barrels out of the woman’s mouth to pummel her body and mind. It really feels that way sometimes, like a physical beating. But this is the price to pay for literary success; her agent, her publisher, everyone, tells her. 

Once the loud-talker is dispatched, Bernadetta pauses for a drink of water from the glass the book shop had provided. While she gulps it down she assesses the remaining line she needs to get through. It stretches on for what looks like forever. 

Her stamina is fading already and she quits counting to instead just muddle through interacting with fan after fan. 

Why does being around people have to sap her energy like this? Or, to get to the root of the problem, why does someone who engages in such a solitary profession have to go against her nature to succeed at said solitary profession? Bernadetta mentally kicks herself when she realizes she can’t remember any of the dozen or so most recent people whose books she signed. She let them all wash over her, none of them leaving a distinct impression.

 _Do better, Bernie!_ She chastises herself inwardly. At least she has broken her habit of doing that out loud.

“Hey,” says the next person in line before she looks up, and right into his eyes, “It’s an honor to meet you.” He’s tall, with fiery red hair, downturned brown eyes, and dressed in the kind of clothes that look casual but probably cost a fortune. He is very cute. 

“Th-thank you,” Bernadetta stammers. She takes the book he offers, opening it to the title page. She should say something else, she knows, but her anxiety-filled brain just can’t offer another phrase to contribute. 

Luckily the man seems to understand, and fills the awkward silence with, “You can make it out to Sylvain: S-Y-L-V-A-I-N.” He drops to a crouch in front of the signing table so he’s at eye level without her having to tilt her head back so severely.

She starts writing, _To Sylvain,_ and he continues speaking. “I’m so happy for you! I’ve been following you online ever since you left a link to your profile at the end of one of your fanfics. All your writing is so good but I love getting to know your original characters.” 

Bernadetta lifts her eyes back to his just as she’s about to sign. She is speechless.

“Whoops,” he rubs the back of his neck with one hand, “there I go rambling again.”

“No!” she blurts out, “No, i-it’s ok! I’m glad you enjoy my writing, and the book.” Blushing, she ducks her head again to finish signing. She feels as though she must be flushing hot enough with embarrassment that heat emanates off her skin as she quickly adds her phone number, very tiny, next to her signature. Then she snaps the book shut and presses it back into his hands. 

_That was so dumb,_ she tells herself as soon as he turns away. He will probably just laugh at it and then never read her writing again. _Oh Bernie,_ she berates herself internally, _why are you so dumb?_

 _But he was so nice,_ the other more generous part of her mind speaks up. 

Bernadetta ventures a parting glance at Sylvain before acknowledging the next person in line. He squints at his open book and then his eyes open wide, brows almost hidden in the messy hair that hangs in his face. He shoots a look at her that she cannot read before letting his book fall closed and turning to leave. 

Her heart sinks. But she steels herself and turns to the next fan. It’s not like she will ever see Sylvain again. 

The remaining line in front of her dwindles and finally ends. She packs up her stuff, thanks the owners of the book shop for hosting, and retreats to the privacy of her car. Sitting in the dark, decompressing, Bernadetta breathes deeply and lets her eyes close.

Somewhere, from inside her bag where she tossed it, she hears her phone buzz twice in quick succession. Bernadetta digs around and finds it. A text message from an unknown number is previewed on the lock screen.

_hey, its sylvain, from the signing_

The phone spontaneously flies out of her hands, bouncing against the steering wheel. She grabs for it and accidentally punches the horn, causing it to emit a short toot that matches her frantic squeak before the phone lands between her feet. She scrambles to pick it up and almost drops it again when she feels another set of vibrations. 

_would you like to grab coffee or a drink with me?_

Bernadetta locks the phone and sets it face down on the passenger seat beside her. She turns the key in the ignition and angles the vents toward her to cool off. Although the sun has set, the summer night is still hot and humid. 

Before letting herself think too much about it, Bernadetta puts her car into drive and pulls away from the curb. Her nerves feel like frayed livewires the whole drive home, but she makes it. 

Once inside her apartment and safely hidden in her room, she opens the message app on her phone. 

There is one more message: _that is, if you will be in town for a bit?_

Her brain spins trying to figure out how she should respond, or if she should respond. The ellipses indicating he is typing yet another message appear.

_I don’t even know if you live here, i guess i just assumed_

Bernadetta makes up her mind and starts typing. She isn’t going to let this opportunity pass her by. 

_Yes_ she types and sends it off, then immediately starts tapping out another message. _I live in the area, and yes, I would like to get coffee with you._


	2. her biggest fan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain and Bernadetta plan to meet and talk literature over some tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 1 was a really short kinkmeme fill but I kept thinking about these two and so here is chapter 2! I'm anticipating 14 chapters in all and they will probably be longer, more the length of this one than chapter 1.

The tea shop is almost empty as Sylvain sits with his iced bergamot tea. She had agreed to meet him in the middle of the afternoon on a Thursday, and the rush of people coming in for their afternoon work pick-me-up hasn’t begun yet. He’s a little early, more excited to meet his favorite author (and actually get to talk with her!) than he has been for pretty much anything in his life for quite a while. And he’s got nothing to do in particular today anyway.

Except figure out when and where to meet Kayla later that evening. He opens his message app to send her a text. It’s not Kayla, it’s Kaylee. Whoops.

His mind drifts thinking about all the things he wants to talk about once he gets the chance. He had enjoyed _An Unmarriageable Girl_ so much, never knowing what kind of mess the main character was going to get into, and get out of, always growing stronger in both her failures and triumphs. 

Sylvain’s phone buzzes on the little two-top table and he looks down. She has suggested a nice restaurant in downtown Fhirdiad at 7, and he groans inwardly. Why can’t he ever go on a second date without a girl trying to push things toward something serious? 

He responds to her in the affirmative, however. It’s Thursday so it will be possible to get a table without reservations there, with the Gautier name. And although he can mentally hear Ingrid yelling at him, he thinks maybe if he plays nice she’ll go down on him after dinner, at least. 

Setting his phone back down, he leans back and gazes out the windows all along the front of the cafe. It had been cloudy and humid all day, a late summer storm threatening. 

Suddenly, a head of purple hair catches his eyes and passes by the window. And then keeps going. He watches as she starts back going the other direction, and stops in front of the door. She stands there for a moment, as if she needs the time to shore up her courage, and then reaches for the door to pull it open. The door is a push, not a pull, and it thumps in its frame before she realizes and pushes a little too hard, sending it flying open wildly before she steps inside.

Sylvain waves to get her attention and hears an alarmed sound in response, but she does begin to move toward him, before tripping on her own feet and flying forward. 

“Violet!” he says, jumping up to help. Sylvain lifts the small woman onto her feet. “Are you ok?”

She doesn’t reply, just hisses softly as she tries to put weight on one of her feet. 

“Here, let’s get you a chair,” he helps her get to the table where he was sitting. The woman at the table next to them stands up and pulls a chair out and he thanks her with a wink.

“I’ve really messed it all up now, haven’t I?” his companion mutters under her breath. “Oh, Bernie, you’re so hopeless.” He kneels down next to the chair to make sure she is, in fact, alright. “Stupid Bernie,” she says.

“Who?” he asks. She stares at him, looking like a frightened animal. “Who is Bernie?” he repeats.

“Um, it’s. Uh, me?” She whimpers, “I’m Bernie.”

Sylvain wonders if she is really ok, or if she had somehow hit her head when she fell. “Aren’t you Violet?” he says. Maybe Violet Burleigh has a twin or something.

“Oh, no, um, Violet is, well, my pen name. M-my real name is Bernadetta.”

“I didn’t know you used a pseudonym. Violet...Bernadetta...Violetta…” he says, connecting her writing name to her real name to her screen name. 

“Yeah, um.” Bernadetta hangs her head. “I know I just hu-humiliated myself and you don’t want to talk to me anymore. I’ll just go—”

“What? No, I really want to talk to you,” he says. “So what kind of tea do you like? My treat.”

“No, no nono, no, you don’t have to pay for me!”

“No, I insist. What kind of guy would I be if I didn’t get you your favorite tea after you hurt yourself?”

She tries to stand up again, and grimaces. “Augh, now you’re making fun of me-e!” She begins to move toward the counter stubbornly. 

“No, really, it’s ok. Just stay there and I’ll get your tea.” Sylvain steers her back into her seat. “What do you want?”

“Y-you can get it for me, but let me pay!” Bernadetta pulls out a small pouch and hands it to him. “I like the honeyed-fruit blend,” she says quietly, then adds, “with milk.”

“Great. I’ll ask for some ice too, for your ankle.”

Sylvain approaches the counter, turning over Bernadetta’s little case in his hands. It’s embroidered with a hedgehog on the other side and he can’t help but smile as he wonders if it was her handiwork. He angles himself once he reaches the counter so she can’t see and fiddles with the zipper, taking a few bills out and tucking them in his pocket. He orders a scone, another tea for himself, and then gives Bernadetta’s order, paying for it all with a card.

Returning a few moments later, he helps her prop her foot up onto an extra chair and she carefully smoothes her skirt down around her thigh. Giving her the ice and letting her get it situated, he sets the zippered hedgehog pouch on the table next to her tea.

“So you’re really...Bernadetta,” he says, sitting back down across from her.

“Von Varley.”

Sylvain recognizes that name. To be sure, he asks, “Of the von Varleys in Adrestia?”

“Yes. But...I—I don’t want to be associated with my family...publicly...professionally. Really at all.”

“You cannot even imagine how much I understand that,” Sylvain laughs as his phone begins to vibrate again, a call this time. He glances at it and frowns. “Speak of the devil.”

Rejecting the call, he goes one step further and turns his ringer off completely, then shoves the phone in his pocket so it will stop interrupting. 

“If you need to get th—” Bernadetta starts before he flashes her a smile. 

Sylvain firmly interrupts her, trying to offer reassurance that she was wanted, “Nah, it’s just my father. And I’m busy so he can wait.” 

“Ok, i-if you’re sure. I’m not offended if you need to leave or anything though. I’m sure you have much more important st-stuff going on than, um, talking to me,” she stutters out.

Bernadetta looks constantly as if she’s ready to run, and although Sylvain had an idea that she was shy based on following her online for years, he still wonders what happened to this girl to make her so scared. 

Wanting to coax more information out of her, he tries flattery, asking, “What could be more important than talking to my favorite author about her writing?” 

“Wh-what do you want to talk about? What about my writing, I mean?” She pauses a moment and then her eyes widen in delayed surprise. “Wait. Favorite!?”

“Yeah! And I’m so glad you were willing to meet up with me for tea and talk literature. I couldn’t believe you wrote your phone number at the signing, actually.”

He’s starting to suspect that her writing feels so real, and in turn has such an effect on him, because she wrote from experience. She certainly shares a lot of qualities with her protagonist, from her anxious manner to her unexpected bravery.

“I couldn’t believe it either!” Bernadetta fidgets with the sleeves of her hoodie.

“But, like I said, I’ve been reading your writing since before you were published. Honestly, it’s kind of hard to think of you as Bernadetta and not Violet or Violetta—”

“How much of my writing before _An Unmarriageable Girl_ did you read?” Her face looks apprehensive.

He feels his face become warm and says, “Uh, well, I’m RuinedSky.”

“What?! So you’ve been following me since...college?”

“Guilty.” Sylvain’s face heats even more. It’s unlike him, but he isn’t often this earnest with anyone. Allowing himself to be vulnerable is more unsettling than he remembered it being.

“When I got sent to GMU, I felt so alone. Your comments on my writing made me feel so much better.”

Sylvain had expressed many of his compliments on her writing to Bernadetta already, but that was online in text, and for whatever reason she decided not to respond most of the time. He doesn’t blame her, of course, and he’d had an inkling even back then of her nervousness. Now he knows for sure she is shy.

“You were at GMU too? I guess that makes sense,” he says, “but...it's not that big of a school. How did we never meet?”

“I barely ever left my room, except to run to and from classes,” she says. “If I needed to do anything else outside I almost always waited until late at night when everyone else was in bed.” 

“Heh, well it’s still surprising we never ran into each other then…” He rubs the back of his neck. 

“Not doing the same late-night activities, I guess,” she says. “You were probably really popular.” He averts his eyes, not really wanting to get into a conversation about all the times he’d ended up hooking up with girls in various places on the GMU campus.

“So anyway, how does it feel to have a book published?” He changes the subject instead.

Iit feels good,” Bernadetta smiles, “really great, actually, to have made it this far.” She casts her eyes down immediately, hair falling into her face, and takes a sip of her tea. 

Sylvain takes note of how she responds to the attention being placed upon her. Apparently she does have some confidence when it comes to her writing. 

He proceeds to do what he’s best at, giving her the spotlight to build her up. They talk for some time about the book. _How did you come up with the idea for the crests?_ he asks. _It’s such a great device to explore class structure and issues with the nobility in the years leading up to the Fodlan Reunification War._ She explains why she linked the Crests to the heroes of a much earlier period, when Adrestia was only being founded. _What’s the connection between the Heroes’ Relics and the Crests and that period in the distant past?_

“You have to wait for the next book to find out!” she says.

“So there is definitely a sequel on the way?” he askes, maybe a little too eagerly. 

She nods and says, “Yeah, it wasn’t marketed as a series because the publisher wanted to see how the first one did before committing, but yeah.”

“That’s so exciting! There’s so much more I want to know and I thought you had left it a bit open-ended.” He really wants to know what adventure the heroine will go on next. “But most of all I need to know what happens to Harriet. She’s such a sweet heroine.”

Bernadetta’s cheeks color. She gazes over his shoulder to the windows. “Well, I should get going...the sun is starting to go down. Almost, uh, dinner time.”

Sylvain has been facing the interior of the shop the whole time they have been talking, giving Bernadetta the banquette seat. That and the overcast sky had obscured the passage of time and he’s blindsided by the realization of how long they’ve been chatting.

“Do you live nearby? Did you walk?” he asks.

“Um, yeah,” she answers. “It’s a few blocks. On Indech Street.”

That’s close by but definitely more than a few blocks, Sylvain knows. “Can I give you a ride home?” he offers. “It would probably be best to stay off your ankle for a while. And it’s probably going to rain.”

“Oh, uh, sure.” Bernadetta starts to gather up the contents of her bag, while Sylvain buses their dishes. He turns around to see her standing up and lifting her bag to sling over her shoulder.

“I got it,” he says, bounding the last few steps back to her side. He remembers to quickly tuck her money into a side pocket of her bag before sliding a supportive arm under hers as they walk to where his car is parked right near the tea shop. 

“What kinds of things do you do when you’re not writing?” Sylvain asks once he puts the car in gear and pulls into traffic. 

“I teach composition at the community college, and at home I mostly spend time doing things by myself like embroidering, or drawing or painting…” she says. “And I have a lot of plants. I’m really quite b-boring.”

“That’s cool, though. Music, art, literature, I love all of that stuff,” he tells her. “They always give you something to talk about.” 

“Yeah. I guess I just found a lot of hobbies to pass the time on my own.” Sylvain turns onto Indech and she says quickly, “Oh, right here, this is me.”

Sylvain pulls the car over in front of a quaint six unit, three floor walk-up apartment building. Each floor has a covered balcony with a brick archway over the front, on either side of a central stairway. He gets out of the car and immediately guesses that Bernadetta’s apartment must be the one with plants filling the balcony, top floor right. 

“I c-can get in from here.” She pulls herself out of the car and leans against it. He realizes she is (understandably) nervous to lead a man she barely knows right to her door.

“Nonsense,” he laughs. “You’re up on the third floor, it looks like, and I’ll bet this building doesn’t have an elevator.” The wind starts to pick up, lifting her hair and blowing it in her face.

Berndetta stares at him, gray eyes darting around. She pushes the stray hair behind her ears. “O-ok, uh, I guess that’s fine.” 

He helps her up the six flights of stairs and stands on the landing while she finds her keys. “Well, this was fun.” He finds himself hoping he will get to see her again, that eventually she won’t be so nervous, that they could be friends, but all he says is, “I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah,” she says, “I’ll see you, I guess. Thanks.” She has the door cracked open already. He watches her slip inside, closing the door softly behind her and turning the lock. 

He lopes back down the steps and outside where dark clouds were gathering before thinking to check his phone, and winces at the series of text messages from Kay-whatever it was. He had been so caught up in talking with Bernadetta he forgot he was even making plans for the evening before she had arrived. Skimming through the texts, he shoots back, _sorry something came up_ and closes the app. 

He opens the car door just as a few fat drops of rain begin falling. Once he’s seated in the driver’s seat, raindrops plopping on the windshield, he notices the little notification indicating he received a voicemail. 

Sylvain raises the phone up to his ear and hears his mother’s voice. _It’s about Miklan. We need you to come immediately._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on twitter - [@sweetbun_trio](https://twitter.com/sweetbun_trio)


	3. he’s no good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorothea is a good friend, and Bernadetta gets a surprise.

_...as Harriet reluctantly began the journey back to D’Abernon territory._

Bernadetta finishes the sentence and turns from her laptop to her sketchpad to finish a drawing of the scene she started before she had settled in to reach her word goal for the day. She always ends up with illustrations of the scenes in her writing. Sketching it out helps her to see the setting and the scene and write more confidently. 

She had never shown anyone the drawings, not even her editor, Seteth. Bernadetta dabbled in many hobbies, but writing is the only one she truly excelled at. The others, like drawing and painting, are fun and a great way to pass the time. Or they’re practical, like sewing and knitting, and the gardening she does with all her houseplants.

Suddenly she wonders if Sylvain would enjoy seeing the illustrated scenes from the first book. Probably. He was more enthusiastic about her characters and stories than most of her friends and family, after all. The thought of showing the pieces to him makes her head spin a little though so she pushes the idea aside.

There are a handful of unanswered texts from him on her phone. For a few weeks they had chatted back and forth almost daily, with Sylvain initiating conversations about everything from her book, to _The Portal_ (the SFF television show that originally brought them together online through Bernie’s fanfiction), to his everyday life and random thoughts that crossed his mind. 

Bernadetta wasn’t sure what to do with all the attention, even though she knows she should feel flattered. But it had made her nervous.

It might be the good kind of nervous her therapist had explained to her, she hadn’t been sure. And now she’s even more unsure, after Dorothea’s warnings. 

“So who is this mystery guy you’ve been texting with?” she had asked Bernadetta on Saturday while they were hanging out and sharing a bottle of wine. 

“Um, someone I met at the last book signing...b-but it’s not like that!” Bernie said. 

“A fan?” Dorothea asked. She leveled Bernadetta with an inquisitive look over her wine glass. 

“Yeah. He’s a big fan, actually...he’s been reading my writing since college. He was even at Garreg Mach with us!” Bernie answered. The two women had met at Garreg Mach University. A rather unlikely friendship, perhaps, as Bernadetta was a shy and reclusive literature major who barely left her dorm, while Dorothea was a theater and music double major who starred in every production while she attended the school. 

“But I think he wants to be friends. He was so nice to me, even after I made a fool of myself when we met up for tea a couple weeks ago,” Bernie continued. “Of course I would do something like trip and twist my ankle.”

“Oh? He sounds nice...like a good guy, even,” Dorothea said. “What is his name?”

“Sylvain.”

At that, Dorothea’s expression had changed from amused and excited to alarmed and disgusted in a half second. 

“Sylvain?” she said, voice dripping disdain, then, “Tall? Red hair?”

“Y-yeah? Do you know him?” Bernie asked, apprehensive.

“Bernie.” Dorothea had that protective glint in her eye, the same as when they were back in school and she discovered yet another detail about how Bernadetta’s father had treated her before her mother had helped her escape by sending her to Garreg Mach.

“W-why do you, um, look so...angry?” Bernadetta asked, gaze cast down at her lap. 

Dorothea had finally started to explain at that point. “Bern, you need to be careful. Besides the fact that I have a hard time believing that Sylvain is apparently such a huge closet nerd, he’s kind of...infamous for being terrible to women.”

“What d-do you mean by that?” There had seemed to be no end to the naive and confused questions Bernadetta could ask on this topic that evening. 

“Well, first of all, he is kind of literally famous.” Dorothea searched for something on her phone, and then she’d turned it toward Bernie to show her a picture of Sylvain. In what looked like some kind of paparazzi photo, he was exiting a club with a young woman on his arm.

“His last name is Gautier, Bernie,” Dorothea said. Bernadetta’s mind had reeled a bit at that. 

“What?!” Bernie squeaked, “Now I feel humilia-ated!” The Gautiers were another of the old historical noble families of Fodlan, like the Varleys. 

Although where the Varleys had traditionally held the minor position of Minister of Religion in the Adrestian Empire before unification, the Gautiers had served as Margraves in the Kingdom’s northern reaches, protecting Fodlan from the threat of invading warriors from Sreng. And their influence in civic, political, and business affairs remained strong in the former Kingdom region of Faerghus to the present day. The family deals in some sort of nefarious business with shady patrons and clients, keeping everything close and hushed within the family circle despite their close proximity to Governor Blaiddyd.

“Don’t feel bad. I’m sure he was delighted to find the last woman in Fodlan who doesn’t recognize him,” Dorothea had said sincerely before tossing her glass back and downing the last of her wine. 

“He did make a comment about understanding how I would not want to be associated with my family name,” Bernie said. “That was after he learned I was a Varley,” she added, taking a sip of her own wine and sinking further into the sofa. 

“If it’s any consolation, he hates his family. He wasn’t lying, as far as I’ve heard from Ingrid,” Dorothea said, and went on, “Doesn’t stop him from taking advantage of all the girls who debase themselves at the possibility of a chance with a Gautier, though.” She had laughed bitterly and reached out to rest her hand on Bernadetta’s knee. 

“He thought my name was actually Violet Burleigh,” Bernie quietly said, feeling herself begin to turn inward to brood anxiously over the news about the new friend she thought she’d made. 

Dorothea had tilted her head in curiosity, “So it’s a case of mutual secret identity. Interesting... Although he could—no, _should_ have told you who he really was when he found out who you really are.”

“It doesn’t matter, it’s not like he wants to date me or something, or even probably be friends with me. I should just stick to who I already know...and the internet, where nobody can hurt me. It’s not like anyone wants to be with Bernie.” She had really been starting to spiral at that point, just imagining Sylvain laughing at her with his real friends. 

“Oh Bern, don’t put yourself down like that,” Dorothea said and squeezed her leg encouragingly. “Sylvain, or anyone, would be lucky to have you as a friend, or their partner!”

She had continued in that vein for a while, building Bernadetta back up with a pep talk, before the conversation had moved on to Dorothea’s job teaching voice lessons to supplement her income in between shows and how cute some of the kids she taught were. 

Now it was several days later on another normal, quiet Tuesday evening, and Bernie is still frozen in indecision about how to handle the situation with Sylvain. The sun had begun its descent toward the horizon and her side of the apartment building was in shadow. 

Uncurling from where she was perched in her chair with one knee pulled up to her chest, Bernie stretches her arms up. She switches on the lamp next to her desk and shuts the French doors leading out to the balcony against the cool autumn breeze blowing that evening. She had already brought most of the plants off the balcony for the year, leaving only the hardiest outside.

Bernadetta neatly stacks her notes in a pile on her desk and closes her laptop. Then she gets to work putting away the books and stray projects she had left lying out, before starting to prepare herself dinner. 

Her apartment is long and narrow, with a hallway running along the inner wall. She has her working room right at the front, with the balcony, and a living room with old but comfortable furniture and television just through some pocket doors. Bernie walks down the long hallway, past her bedroom, into the dining room and through to the kitchen at the back of the apartment. 

She sets the oven to preheat and wanders back down the hallway, planning to begin the rewatch of _The Portal_ she has been thinking about starting after so many texts back and forth about it lately. There’s a piece of paper in the hall that somebody must have slipped under the door. She picks it up, slightly concerned, thinking the landlord might need to communicate something but didn’t want to bother her in the evening. 

_Bernadetta,_ the note reads in a strong flowing handwriting. _I know you like communicating in writing better than talking, but you stopped replying to my messages, so I decided to handwrite you an old-fashioned letter._

This must be from Sylvain. She glances down to the bottom of the letter and sees where he signed his name to confirm. 

_I don’t know why you aren’t replying to me, but I have a few guesses, and if I’m right then you’re honestly completely justified._ Is this some kind of...reverse psychology trick or manipulation? 

_I just wanted to tell you I hope you are ok. And also that I still want to be friends with you and I hope you will talk to me again and let me explain. Your devoted fan, Sylvain._

Bernadetta looks around, suddenly feeling paranoid like maybe she is on a hidden camera, or Sylvain himself is hiding in her apartment, ready to jump out and laugh at her. She lets out a long, audible, shaky breath, and then startles and lets out a shriek when the oven beeps to notify her it’s preheated. 

A knock on the door has her jumping a second time but managing to bite her tongue before yelling again. 

“Wh-who is it?” she asks as she moves to look through the peephole. It’s him! She hesitates a moment before opening the door enough to look out.

“Heya,” Sylvain says, winking. Not for the first, and certainly not for the last time, she wonders how he generates all this confidence. 

“H-hi?” she replies, not making eye contact. She keeps the door closed most of the way, and he makes no effort to change that.

Bernadetta stares at his jeans, at the dark teal green sweater he wears, not knowing what to say.

“...So, are you ok?” Sylvain asks. “Nothing happened to you?”

She opens up the door, finally finding her voice, “Why don’t you come in.” He steps inside and she closes the door behind him, turning around to see him standing in the narrow hallway looking like he belongs in a much larger, grander space. 

“I’m ok. Nothing really...happened.” 

“But I wasn’t as forthcoming as I should have been,” Sylvain says. “By the way, you are fortunate to have a good friend in Dorothea.”

“You know Dorothea?” she asks. “She knew who you are but it didn’t seem like you were friends.”

”My friend, Ingrid, is Dorothea’s girlfriend,” he says. “She told me that Dorothea was trying to protect you from me.” 

“Were we all at school at, um, at the same time?” 

“Yes, but I’ve known Ingrid since we were kids.” 

“Oh,” Bernadetta says, somewhat lamely. They stand in the hallway still, and she shifts her weight to her other foot. What is the appropriate social protocol when someone shows up on your doorstep on a Tuesday evening (how did he even get in the front door of the building?) to apologize for not telling you they are rich and famous?

“I can explain whatever you want to know...about me.” Sylvain looked around himself, through the closest door, into her workspace. 

“I w-was just about to cook dinner...for myself,” she says, “but I don’t usually have guests on weeknights and I live alone so I generally only prepare food for one person. I might have snacks or something else though.”

“No, it’s ok!” he says, returning his attention to her. “I’m the one imposing on you. I can order delivery—and before you protest, I insist on paying.” 

Bernadetta thinks back to the day weeks ago when he dropped her off, and once home and safe she found the money she had given him for her tea stuffed into a random pocket of her bag. She decides who paid wasn’t worth fighting over. Nodding, she leads him into the living room, turning the light on and offering a seat. 

“I’m just going to go shut off the oven and I’ll be right back.”

She returns a few moments later to find Sylvain studying one of the several bookshelves that lined the living room walls. Sitting on the couch, she expects him to take the chair, but he sits next to her. 

“I remembered you mentioned some fish place you like so I scrolled through to find the text and ordered some food from there.” He picks up the DVD case for the first season of _The Portal_ she had left out on the coffee table. “Were you planning to watch?”

“Yeah, that was my plan for tonight. Kind of boring, I know.”

“I’d love to watch with you.”

“Uh, ok.” Her eyes follow his hands as he places the box back on the table. 

“Let’s talk first before the food comes, though.” Sylvain turns toward her and she meets his eyes. They are soft and the same hue as caramel. “I am so sorry that I lied to you, Bernie—”

She interrupts him. “You didn’t lie.”

“I lied by omission, because I couldn’t believe you didn’t recognize me at first. And when I knew you didn’t know who I was, then I was selfish and just wanted to get to know you without all the baggage that my family brings along.” A shadow passes over his face for a moment, maybe guilt or possibly shame twisting his handsome features, before he runs a hand through his red hair and goes on, “And also the baggage of my...reputation.” He sighs heavily.

Bernadetta remembers Dorothea’s words about Sylvain’s history of ‘taking advantage’ of women who only want him for his family and money. Or letting the women take advantage of him, whichever it is in reality. At the same time, however, the last thing she wants is for him to think she’s special in some way for not recognizing him when she’s just been in her own world most of the time, massively out of the loop and not paying any attention to the gossip magazines and websites. But it’s not like he meant it like _that_ with her anyway. 

She realizes her attention drifted while he was still talking. “...anyway, can I just have a do-over on my introduction so we can move on?”

“Um? Oh. Uh, sure.”

“Hi,” he says, smiling a dazzling sort of smile before his expression turns serious again, “I’m Sylvain Jose Gautier.” He holds out his hand and she takes it awkwardly to shake, feeling a little overwhelmed at how her small hand almost disappears in his grasp. 

“Bernadetta von Varley.” Why does she feel so warm?

“Well, now that that’s settled, let’s put on the show,” Sylvain says, releasing her hand and leaning back onto the sofa, looking as comfortable and carefree as could be while Bernadetta’s stomach flip flops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come find me on Twitter - [@sweetbun_trio](https://twitter.com/sweetbun_trio)!


	4. some unfortunate truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things start to get more serious and we find out what that call at the end of chapter 2 was about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for mentioned and implied childhood abuse, Miklan, Sylvain's father, Bernadetta's father

Sylvain curses the incandescent fill lights illuminating the conference room of Margrave Services’ headquarters in downtown Fhirdiad. He knows a sheen of sweat has broken out at his hairline. 

It’s far too early for this. It would be far too early _even if_ he had gotten enough sleep.

Another round of camera flashes go off and his hungover body screams at him. His head pounds and he thoroughly regrets his decision to go out and blow off steam the night before this stupid farce. 

Even earlier that morning, Sylvain woke up in an unfamiliar bed. And instead of facing the consequences, he had stealthily gathered his clothing before slipping into the bathroom, getting dressed and cleaning up as much as possible, and creeping out of the woman’s apartment. It then seemed too late to attempt to get any more sleep at home, and too early to show up on his parent’s doorstep to be briefed and prepped for this Goddessforsaken press conference. 

Instead, Sylvain had found a tea shop and dozed over several cups of Seiros Tea until the sun rose on him. 

“...that is our fault…” Sylvain only catches snippets of the statement. “...can see now that Miklan should have never been allowed to work in this capacity…” It’s not like his father actually cares about what Miklan did. Sylvain wanted to yell. A sudden wave of nausea washes over him and he swallows thickly. 

The family, the company, only cares that this time his brother got caught. What he’d done this time was too heinous, too brazen for it to be hushed up, even with the Gautiers’ considerable power. 

Not that they hadn’t tried. 

This is a last resort, trying to minimize backlash now that it is known exactly what happened in that village in Sreng, after doing their best for months to keep the incident secret from anyone in Fhirdiad and greater Faerghus. Now that he had been formally charged, the family finally disowned and cut Miklan off. 

“...put in a situation where…” his father continues to drone on. 

The situation Miklan had been put in was a result of their father deciding, early on, that he did not have the temperament to eventually succeed him.

“...rest assured we have gone as far as to cut ties…” Will the old man ever finish reading this prepared statement? Sylvain’s mother stands silent, as always, beside her husband. Today she quietly dabs at tears. “...make amends….”

All for show.

Of course his parents long ago began thinking of Sylvain as the heir apparent. They had opted to force him into the role, if only in name. 

“...younger son is prepared…” There it is, Sylvain thinks. Standing at his father’s other shoulder, he smoothes his expression, anticipating the subtle swivel of heads in the press corps toward him. 

“There are some who doubt the relative suitability of your younger son, in light of his personal life,” one reporter shouts. “What assurances do you have for the public of his competence?”

Sylvain’s suddenly very much, unfortunately, very mentally present in the room. He glances toward the lectern and mic, toward his father, who looks apoplectic. His face reddens nearly to the same shade of his hair as Sylvain watches.

“Excuse me?” he roars, before Sylvain can speak for himself. His voice had hardened into the threatening edge that still makes Sylvain want to run. He reflexively shrinks back slightly, hopefully not enough for anyone else to notice. 

And then, at a signal from his father, security removes the reporter. She protests fiercely as the two men grab her arms, practically dragging her from the room. 

“This concludes our statement. We have no further comments,” he says with finality, betraying the impunity Oskar Phillipe Gautier believes—knows—he possesses. Security begins to herd the reporters and photographers from the press conference. 

Sylvain turns to leave, not wanting to be left to the monsters who call themselves his parents, but a strong hand wrenches his arm and pulls him back. He stands before his father and mother, chin held at a defiant angle. His other hand is balled into a fist and he shakes it out, letting his arm hang at his side.

“Sweetie,” his mother says. She approaches him, taking his hand and holding it in both of hers. His father only scowls. This was the game they played, Sylvain is very familiar. 

“Things are going to be different now, Sylvie,” she says. Sylvain clenches his jaw. “You have responsibilities. The spotlight will be on you from now on, more than before. You won’t be able get away with the...antics you’re used to...participating in.” 

“Yes,” Sylvain says, trying and failing not to sneer. “Of course, now I will be a good Gautier and behave. I will not cause trouble for the company, or the family.”

“We’ll be watching you, more than we have,” his father chimes in. “Don’t think for a moment that we don’t know what you were up to last night. You look frankly unpresentable.” He lets go of Sylvain’s arm in disgust, shoving him away.

Sylvain really is going to be sick. He bolts from the room, finding the nearest restroom and not caring that it’s one open to company employees. Just in time, he slams open a stall door and retches, bringing up only bile from his empty stomach. 

His face in the mirror under the fluorescent lights looks haggard. Sylvain pauses, midway through washing his hands to stare. His face is puffy, with deep shadows under his bloodshot eyes, and his hair a dull red. He rinses the soap off his hands and dries them before turning back to the mirror. Trying to freshen up, he pushes the hair that hangs on either side of his face back and runs his fingers through it, only succeeding in making himself look sloppier. 

“Damn,” he mutters. 

A man walks into the restroom, stopping in his tracks at the sight of the boss’s son. Sylvain pushes past him and makes a break for the exit. 

Several hours later and back in his apartment, Sylvain wakes in the early evening to his stomach complaining. Realizing he hasn’t eaten all day, he fixes himself some toast and hopes it will settle his growling and churning stomach. 

The night stretches out in front of him, as so many nights did. 

Going out again is out of the question, both because his parents’ will be watching his every movement and simply because he feels like garbage. He wants to, though, Saints does he want to. The allure of drowning this whole awful day in another haze of booze and someone’s warm body still tempts him.

He wishes he could go back to sleep, and considers the sleeping pills in his medicine cabinet. Also a bad idea. 

Maybe he can commiserate with a friend. He picks up his phone, planning to text Dimitri, or Felix. Ingrid would just tell him to suck it up. And sure enough, there was a pitying message from her. 

Sylvain turns on the television, trying to find something mindless to watch. Every other channel he flips through was discussing _him._ He slams the power button on the remote and yells as he throws it across the room. 

The weak grasp he has over his willpower snaps, and Sylvain pours himself a whiskey. He can’t go out, but there’s no reason he can’t get good and drunk here at home, hurting nobody but himself. His lips are on the rim of the glass when his phone vibrates. He sets the glass down to read a concerned message from Bernadetta.

_I saw the news. I’m sorry you’re dealing with that :( If you want to talk let me know._

Bernie. Ever since the evening when he had asked her for a fresh start, they had been back to texting and talking almost every day, and occasionally hanging out either at her place or his to watch _The Portal._ Wondering why he hadn’t thought to text her first, he opens the message and taps out a reply.

_want to come over?_

Her answer comes while he’s in the kitchen pouring out that glass of whiskey in the sink.

_I’ll text when I’m downstairs._

He surveys the state of his place as soon as he reads it. It’s tidy, as usual, but he cringes at the dent in the drywall where the remote had hit and cracked. He picks it up and hides it in the media console before making another attempt to look _presentable._ Sothis, he hates his father.

The look on Bernadetta’s face when he opens the door a short while later tells him he had not succeeded. She gasps and lifts her hand as if to reach up and touch his face, pulling it back at the last moment. “Are you ok?”

“I’ll be fine. Just tired,” he says as he lets her in. Once inside, she looks around just like the first time she visited him at his apartment and every time since then, acting as if she’s not comfortable in such a large and open space. 

“How have you been?” Sylvain asks. He takes the bag she was holding and her big puffy coat, hanging it up while she slips off her boots. 

“Pretty good. I’m slowly but surely making progress on the book.” Bernadetta picked up her bag again. “I made some soup last weekend so I brought some to heat up,” she says, holding it up.

“That’s cool,” Sylvain says lamely. Bernie cocks her head to one side, her grey eyes worried. It looks different when it’s concern for him rather than fear she had done something wrong.

She waits for him to lead the way into the kitchen, and then hovers while he opens several cupboard doors before finally finding what she wants. “It’s stew with verona and loach.” She pulls a container out of her bag and empties it into the pot, looking around and then finding a spoon in a canister on his countertop. “And there’s cheese we can m-melt on top if, um, if you like that.”

Sylvain’s hangover has subsided enough that he agrees. “I’d like that.” He gets bowls and spoons out and leans on the kitchen island, watching her figure out the gas and stir the soup while it heats up. 

A few minutes, later they sit down to eat. Bernadetta waits, as if she’s not able to eat until she makes sure that he likes it, letting out a relieved sigh when he reassures her. It’s a rich and hearty soup and it warms him from the inside out. 

“Thank you,” he says sincerely. “I’m grateful for a home cooked meal to soothe away the urge to do something stupid tonight. Again.” 

“So what will you do? A-about your family,” Bernadetta ventures. She quickly adds, “But you don’t need to! I mean, don’t need to tell me if you don’t want to.” A small emphasis on ‘me’ comes through that saddens Sylvain.

He sighs and stares into his bowl, replaying the day’s events in his mind.

“I just remember that I felt better as soon as I told Dorothea about it,” she whispers.

“About what?” 

Bernadetta sighs big enough to compete with his own sigh, but it’s less resigned and more to build herself up to what she says next with a remarkably steady voice. “My father. He was abusive. He only thought of how he could control my mother and I, how we could be useful to him and his ambitions. He made me feel worthless every time I didn’t meet his expectations...which was pretty much all the time.”

Sylvain had figured out that Bernadetta had drawn on her own experiences to create Harriet, the protagonist in her novel, but he is still a little surprised at just how much of the character is drawn from her real life. 

“But you got away from him.” A little flare of jealousy burns in his heart. He shoves another spoonful of soup in his mouth to smother it. 

“My mother helped me get accepted to GMU,” Bernadetta says. “And then when I got the advance for my first book, I used a lot of it to help _her_ get away.”

The envy in Sylvain’s chest extinguishes in a half second. “You’re a good person, Bernie.”

“It’s the least I could do—what anyone in the same situation would have done,” she says, shrugging off his praise. “And I’m still working on—well, on everything, but, um, thank you.”

Now that he has heard her story, he really owes it to her to open up a little. “My father…” Sylvain says and then stops. He doesn’t even know where to begin. He tries again, “My brother. He was actually more horrible to me than my father. Although my father kept us all in line with the threat of what he _could_ do.”

Bernadetta just listens, not trying to pry or prod him to reveal more.

“The news, about Miklan, about my brother…” he starts again, trailing off and fidgeting with his spoon and empty bowl. He pushes them away across the counter and lays his head down. 

“My father has known about the whole incident for months now. I mean, the family knew shortly after it happened, and they began working to cover it up immediately!” The sound of Sylvain’s voice is muffled into his arms. He lifts his head and watches Bernadetta tuck her stocking-covered feet up underneath her on the chair, making herself look even smaller than she is. 

“At first, the news of what Miklan did in Sreng—about how he and some other company agents killed those civilians—started to leak.” He shudders, thinking again about what his brother had actually done. It was the logical conclusion to all of the cruelty Miklan had shown over his life, to Sylvain and others. “And now they turned on him, and the pressure is on me. They expect me to take over the business eventually.”

“And you don’t want that.” Bernadetta’s brow furrows and her mouth turns down in a little pout. 

“I don’t want to be involved in the terrible things they do,” Sylvain says. “Maybe if the company did something useful, to help the world instead of hurt people…Or even something, I don’t know, just neutral.” 

He had long ago given up wishing and imagining worlds in which Margrave Services wasn’t his family’s horrible legacy. Sylvain hates being associated with violence and corruption, but up until now the future seemed distant and theoretical. Now it stares him down, right in front of him.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out in the end,” Bernie says. She reaches out and pats him on the back. “Whether you choose to do what your parents want, or not.”

 _If only that were true,_ Sylvain thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on Twitter! [@sweetbun_trio](https://twitter.com/sweetbun_trio)


	5. of monsters and men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain convinces Bernadetta to run a table-top rpg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is inspired by a discussion in the Sylvadetta discord server. If you love this ship as much as me, come join! <https://discord.gg/wJNsaF2ryq>
> 
> The system Bernadetta uses to GM is called Dungeon World. I used it here because it's the ttrpg system I'm most familiar with. You can learn more about it [here.](https://dungeon-world.com/)

As soon as Sylvain arrives with snacks and beer and so much energy Bernie feels like a thunderstorm has blown into her apartment, her anxiety begins to bubble over. She wouldn’t say she regrets agreeing to GM a game for the first time, but it might not have been the best idea since she has started feeling _like this_ when she was around him. 

He started pestering her to do this a couple weeks ago. They were hanging out at the tea place where they had first agreed to meet months ago, when she let it slip that she had a gaming session later that evening, and he responded, “You play table-top RPGs?” 

He had completely paused his doomscrolling through news of Miklan’s upcoming trial, while she was working on outlining the last several chapters of her book, and perked up with interest about something for the first time that afternoon. She paused as well, setting her pen aside to focus on breathing in and out slowly.

“I’ve always wanted to try it,” Sylvain added, catching her off guard (which kept happening more and more often lately) with his enthusiasm.

“O-only online,” Bernie had said nervously, anticipating his next question.

“Would you be willing to do a game with me? And some friends?”

“I’ve only played online with people, um, I met online, Sylvain! I’ve never been the game master!” She took a drink of her tea to mask her anxiety. She never talked about her online group. It was one of her secrets. 

The idea of playing in person, without the safety of a screen between her and the rest of the party, terrified her.

“Bernie,” Sylvain said, his light brown eyes eager and sincere. “You are so creative. You’re a published writer! You will be so good at leading us through a game. You could even write your own one-shot.” He reached over the table to squeeze her shoulder lightly and her stomach did that fluttery thing again, like it did whenever he casually touched her. She didn’t jump anymore when he did it, at least, so she didn’t think he noticed the effect he had on her. 

“Ok, um, I-I’ll try it,” she had said, despite the fact that sitting and carefully crafting written words for a novel was not in the least the same as thinking on her feet to run a role-playing game.“But who else do you want to play with?”

Back in the present, everyone has arrived, and she can’t give up and hide away in her room.

At the game table, she sits across from Sylvain. Dorothea is next to him, with Ingrid closest to Bernadetta on the right. And on her left are Sylvain and Ingrid’s friends Felix and Dimitri. Bernadetta sinks down in her chair, behind the tall screen she had in front of her, blocking her from view of the others sitting around the table. She can still see Sylvain’s unruly red hair sticking up.

Her anxiety mounts as the five players in front of her finish filling in their character sheets and begin to go around the table and introduce themselves.

“I'm a catboy bard,” Sylvain says, starting them off. 

Bernadetta’s pretty sure everyone else will choose races from the basic game kit, having almost no prior knowledge about how to play, but Sylvain came ready with his own ideas. She clarifies, “So, a Tabaxi.”

“Yeah, catboy,” his face splits into a grin, “with a chaotic alignment. My instrument is ‘the pipes with which I courted my first love.’ Imagine me in fine, ostentatious clothes. Oh! And I have 6 uses of halfling pipeleaf, so you’re welcome for that, everyone.” 

He pulls out an orange cat-ear headband and puts it on, nestling it into his hair. It clashes horribly.

Dorothea groans. “Ok, I’ll go next. I picked the wizard class. Good alignment. And the elf race, because it says here…’magic is as natural as breath for you’ if you are an elf wizard. Who are you, Ingrid?”

“Lawful human paladin,” Ingrid says simply. “My quest is to ‘defend the weak from the iniquities that beset them,’ I have ‘senses that pierce lies,’ and ‘freedom from hunger, thirst and sleep,’” —Felix, Dimitri and Sylvain all chuckle at that— “and it says here that the GM is supposed to tell me what vow is required for me to maintain my blessing.” 

Bernadetta shuffles through the spare papers to find the paladin one and then tells Ingrid, “You m-must take a vow of...honor. Cowardly tactics and tricks are forbidden.”

Ingrid looks relieved. “That sounds all right, then.”

“I, um, I guess I should say,” Bernadetta says, “that I’m going to GM as if I want you to succeed, ok? I want everyone to have fun.”

“I think that’s a great idea,” Dorothea backs her up. “After all, we are all beginners at this.” She looks around at everyone, and so does Bernie, sitting up straight and no longer hiding behind her screen. 

They turn to Felix next. “I’m going to be a ranger,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“What is your race and alignment?” Bernie asks after a moment.

“Elf and neutral.”

“And you have an animal companion, right?” Bernie prompts again.

“It’s a cat...named Kyphon,” he says, and then squints at the tiny lettering on his character sheet. “His strength is ‘stealthy,’ he’s trained to search and scout, and his weakness is ‘stubborn.’”

Dimitri chimes in last. “My character is a good-aligned human fighter. He uses a spear.” 

Pretty straightforward, Bernadetta thinks, which is probably for the best, since Dimitri is not yet even comfortable speaking as his character even just to introduce himself. 

With their characters ready, the time has come to set the stage and scene for their campaign. Bernie tears her gaze from her notes and takes a deep, shaky breath. 

“Five old friends,” she begins, “reuniting after many years apart. It’s as if fate brought all of you back together from widely diverging paths since you last separated. You meet seemingly by chance in a village.

“While enjoying a round in the village tavern, you overhear unsettling rumors of a mystery disturbance up in the mountains where there is an old abandoned temple. The question is: what is up that mountain? The villagers will be eternally grateful if you either allay their fears by solving the mystery or defeat whatever evil resides in the temple.”

Bernadetta lays down a map she drew of the game world, showing them where they are, and where the temple is in the nearby mountains.

“Ooooh this is a good start,” Sylvain says. He rubs his hands together. “So we’re going to go see what’s in the temple. Right, everyone?”

After reacquainting themselves with one another and answering some questions about their shared pasts and character bonds, the party members decide to immediately venture out and up the mountain to the temple. They travel the half day it takes to reach the gates without encountering any enemies. Felix insists on forging ahead of the others once they approach the walls and sends Kyphon out to scout during the trip, getting used to the starting moves for the Ranger class. Dorothea takes time while he’s away to prepare her spells. 

“I’m going to use my Bardic Lore to find out more about the temple.” The party stands in front of the gates, and Sylvain starts off their encounter at the temple location. “My area of expertise is ‘Legends of Heroes Past,’ so I’ll ask who this temple was built for?”

“It was built to honor a heroine of the ancient world,” Bernadetta says.

Sylvain runs with it, “Awesome! So there was a great heroine, who lived long before the era in which this temple was built, and she inspired the people to build it so they could give offerings and receive blessings. I recognize her glyph right here, actually.”

“And what tale, song, or legend did you hear that information in?” 

“Um, hmm…” Sylvain pauses and then vamps for a bit, “I’m trying to remember because it was so long ago that I heard it, but I believe it was the Legend of Saerulia the Blue. In the legend, she defeats a dragon who had terrorized the people of the area. So they built this temple on the mountain where the dragon had had its hoard.”

Everyone at the table is looking at him, including Bernadetta, surprised at how quickly he had filled in the lore for them. 

“Wow. So you really are that big of a nerd,” Dorothea breaks character to say. She wears an expression that can only be described as impressed, her perfectly arched eyebrows raised and green eyes full of mirth.

Sylvain just shrugs, and then swigs his beer. 

Dimitri speaks for the first time as his character, “I break open the gate so we can get through.” But then he falls back into asking questions about how the game works. “There’s a starting move here on my sheet called ‘Bend Bars, Lift Gates’ that would work for that, I think?”

“Yes, you can roll plus your strength for that.” He rolls and gets a partial success. “Ok so you can pick two from the list there.”

“It doesn’t take long and it doesn’t make an inordinate amount of noise,” Dimitri fills in.

“Awesome. You all are able to pass through the gate now,” Bernie tells everyone, watching as Dimitri beams. He is obviously happy to have helped in some way.

The party makes their way through the grounds inside the outer wall, passing overgrown gardens and courtyards that were once surely beautiful and inviting. Upon reaching the building that houses the shrine, they find no doors to stop them. Bernadetta emphasizes this fact to hint at what is to come, but nobody hesitates before striding right in.

“The ground inside the temple building is littered with debris—broken stones scattered around a large pile in the center. Light illuminates the chamber from the collapsed ceiling,” Bernadetta describes. 

“I examine the rubble in the temple for any clues,” Sylvain says confidently.

“Alright, that sounds like you’re discerning realities, so roll plus your wisdom.”

He rolls a nine. “Augh, so close.” He reads and rereads the list of questions he can choose to ask. “What should I be on the lookout for?”

“Among the ruins and detritus, you can see signs of something living: what looks like flaked off remnants of large claws and scales, droppings...it looks like whatever it was may have been quite a large beast.” She looks into his eyes, which open wide, his mouth slightly agape. He’s fully immersed in the game fiction, hanging on her every word. Glancing around the table, Bernie sees the others coming to their own realizations of a possible imminent threat. 

“Let’s get out of here as fast as we can and regroup,” Dorothea says.

“You’re all quite a way from the entrance of the shrine. And then a huge white dragon swoops down to block the archway before you can get to it.”

Dorothea frantically looks over her cantrips and spells and then to the basic moves. “I run quickly to get out of the way and slip past the dragon.”

“Roll plus your dex to Defy Danger,” Bernie directs. Dorothea rolls double twos and sighs. Even with her plus one it’s not enough to succeed. “You can’t get past and you suffer mild burns when your robes are singed as the dragon breathes fire at you. What do you do now?” 

Bernadetta looks toward Ingrid, who has not made a move in a bit, to prompt her to defend or attempt to heal Dorothea. “I block her from being injured further.”

“Go ahead and roll plus con.” Ingrid has better luck, rolling a nine and adding one for a success, giving her three chances to defend from the list of options.

“First, I redirect the attack to myself by getting its attention,” Ingrid says.

“Alright the dragon turns away from Dorothea...um, how about you, Dim—”

“I’m gonna shoot arrows at it with my bow,” Felix interrupts.

“That’s going to be Volley, so roll plus dex.” He rolls and succeeds, then rolls to deal his damage, taking out a sizable chunk of the dragon’s hit points. Yet Felix looks nonplussed, maybe even smug, while Sylvain whoops and Ingrid exclaims excitedly. 

Ingrid continues to defend Dorothea while Felix and Dimitri start working together to fight the dragon. And Bernadetta’s ability to keep up with the action is tested as the fight rages on, the guys rolling dice and trading moves back and forth as they get into and out of danger and wear down the enemy.

She shifts attention to Ingrid, who lays hands on Dorothea. She rolls her dice and succeeds, allowing Dorothea to rejoin the fight.

“I cast Magic Missile!” Dorothea says loudly, her singer’s voice projecting over everyone else at the table. She splays her fingers out in front of her, miming the action of casting the spell. 

“Ok, roll plus int.” Bernadetta holds her breath and watches as Dorothea rolls a twelve. 

“The spell hits the dragon, and it lets out a horrible cry, before freezing midair and transforming into a beautiful woman with pale blue hair,” Bernie narrates. “She starts to float down from where she had been flying—”

“I run forward to catch her,” Dimitri says and Bernadetta goes with it, not making him roll for anything.

“—into the outstretched arms of Dimitri, who lowers her the remaining distance to the ground.”

“We have to try to talk to her!” Sylvain says. “I rush to the woman’s side and ask— Actually I’m not sure if one of these moves applies here...”

“Let’s say,” Bernie checks the bard character sheet for his moves, “use ‘Charming & Open, so ask her one of the questions below, and then she can ask you one.”

Sylvain quickly asks, “What do you most desire?”

Taking on the woman’s character, Bernie answers him. “Before I pass into the unknown, I want you—she looks around to all the party members—want you to promise me you will take on this quest.” She pauses to review her notes on the fronts and dangers she had formulated while preparing. “Journey south, find...Savrinn, who will provide more information. Defeat the evil that creeps among us. They are...are...marked.” Bernie cuts herself off.

“Marked? Marked how?” Ingrid demands. “Wait, is she dead?”

“Yeah, she’s dead,” Bernadetta clarifies.

“Well, I guess we know where we’ll go our next session, then,” Sylvain says, smiling. 

After that, the conclusion of the fight and subsequent return to the village to report on what they found serves as a good wrap-up for their initial adventure. They answer end-of-session questions together as a group to award XP and level up characters, and then choose some new moves and spells. Bernadetta chats with everyone and quietly hopes everyone had fun. And maybe...they might think of her now as their friend. 

At a lull in the conversation, Dimitri decides to head out. “This has been really fun,” he says. “Bernadetta. It was so nice to meet you. I’ll be looking forward to next time.” 

Soon after that Ingrid and Dorothea start yawning, and then gathering up their coats to head home. It’s late. They had played for several hours and into the early hours of the morning. 

Sylvain gets up to get another beer and Felix fixes Bernie with a look. She can tell he’s studying her. Sizing her up. His eyes pierce her. Although dark brown they are far from warm, somehow bright and sharp all at once. Bernadetta instinctively wants to flee from his gaze, or just stay very very still and hope he doesn’t notice her. However, he averts his eyes before she does and his inky fringe cascades into place in front of his face, as if direct eye contact made him uncomfortable.

She relaxes a bit and gets up from the table to move to the living room, checking over her shoulder to see that Felix follows her. He sits in the chair and she sits on the sofa, and both of them look toward the switched off television.

“So, I take it you’ll want a ride home with me,” he says to Sylvain once he returns. “It’s getting late and I’d like to hit the road soon. We can leave after you finish that.”

Sylvain brushes him off. “Nah, don’t feel like you have to wait up for me. I gotta hang out with Bernie and discuss how the campaign went so far.” He seems to expand in all directions from his seat beside her, long legs stretched out under the table and long arms draped across the back of the couch. 

“Um, ok, I guess we could talk for a while.” Conflicted, Bernadetta both wants to spend more time alone with Sylvain and wants him to leave so she can think about what had happened over the course of the evening. And probably overthink, and pick apart each and every interaction, to the point that she will not be able to sleep for hours. 

“That was so much fun.” He slouches even further as he drinks his beer, the cat ears still poking up from his hair. “What did you think, Fe?”

Felix scowles at the nickname. “It was fun. I didn’t dislike it.”

“Please don’t mind him. He’s grouchy but I think once you get to know him you’ll like him a lot, Bernie. Also, you did such an amazing job GMing tonight! When we fought the dragon, I wasn’t expecting it to turn into a woman, and then give us clues that opened up the world even more. You’re so creative.” Sylvain runs his hand through his hair, and then rubs the back of his neck. His eyes droop half closed and a half-smile lifts one side of his mouth.

“Yeah, but you really helped answer questions and fill in the lore about the world as our bard, and I just had a pretty standard ‘fight a dragon’ session ready,” Bernadetta protests. “Actually, you gave me the idea for the dragon actually being a woman when you answered the lore questions at the temple gate!” 

She didn’t do anything very groundbreaking while running the game. Sylvain was making too big of a deal...probably because he was drunk. That’s all it was. 

“I hope everyone else liked it,” he says as he finishes his drink and sets the empty can down (on a coaster, Bernadetta notices), and leans back again.

“Last chance for that ride,” Felix says, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees.

Sylvain looks toward Bernie, a slight pout pushing his bottom lip out. “Can I hang out a little longer?” 

She splutters a little at his tone. “Y-yes. If you w-want.”

“If you’re sure.” Felix gets up and stretches. Bernadetta walks him to the door while he pulls on his jacket. As he leaves he says, voice low, “Don’t worry, once you wake up tomorrow he’ll already be gone and out of your hair. He doesn’t like to stick around.”

It sounds as much like a warning as a reassurance.

After he’s past the threshold, Felix adds, “I’m happy to see him staying up late playing games and hanging out with friends, though...rather than the usual bullshit.”

“Oh?” Bernadetta is curious, having heard those rumors from Dorothea, but also doesn’t want to talk about her friend behind his back.

Felix seems to have no such qualms, however. “Yeah. I can tell he’s been partying less. He’s usually not that inebriated after how little he drank tonight.”

When Bernie doesn’t say anything in response, he adds, “I know his family has been on his back since...you know...but I think you’ve been a good influence on him too.”

“Oh, well, I don’t, um, know about that.” She looks down at her feet.

“Well, I did have fun tonight,” Felix says. “Have a good night, Bernadetta.”

“Goodnight. Drive safely.” And with that, he was gone.

She locks the door behind him and turns back toward the living room. Sylvain’s head had slumped to the side against the couch back cushion, his glasses and cat ears askew. Soft snores escape his mouth. 

Bernadetta sighs. She gently pulls the frames from his face and folds them up to place on the side table so they won’t get crushed if he rolls over. She covers him with a throw blanket before flicking the lightswitch off and getting herself ready for bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Come hang out with me [on Twitter](https://twitter.com/sweetbun_trio)


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